Word Of Mouth
by OPassengerThePassenger
Summary: Here's a collection of one shots about Diane Lockhart. From the daily routine to the unusual events, you'll see who's Diane Lockhart, Mrs Lockart, and Diane. I am not sure about it yet, but maybe there will be some M rated scenes (I will warn you before those kind of chapter in the "A.N" section). The Passenger.
1. Chapter 1

**A.N: Hi! So this is the first shot of the " _collection_ ". I don't know how much I will write but the second one is almost ready. What I write here probably will be different because I use another technic (I randomly chose a pic, describe it and what would happen in that moment). Anyway, what I wanted to say is that all your reviews are welcomed. What you have to say is important - your critics help me to improve my writing and it's always pleasant to see that someone take the time comment my work. By the way, since English is not my mothertongue, let me know if there's any huge mistake.  
Okay, this is such a big "A.N", I'm sorry!  
Thank you,  
The Passenger.**

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 ** _Autumn_** ** _in Chicago._**

Word of mouth goes fast and yesterday it said that he picked her up at the firm in the late evening for dinner. He drove them out of the big city and when they arrived, he opened her door and took her hand pretending it was in order to help her getting out of the car.

The night was dark, the starlight couldn't go through the opaque sky, but the red light of a sun dead for his beloved was reflected on the huge flaky rock, giving to the purity of its white some bloody orange halos of light. The moon was burning above the skyscrapers.

Slowly, that unbearable temperature Chicago went through during the day was lowing, and the clouds – stuffy and glad to meet again – thundered a stormy coming.

The monument that rose itself at ten meters away; the fountain; the beauty of the scene left her speechless and she left his hand. Under that heavy temperature the time had stopped.

Through the wall glasses, Diane saw the top of the crop having dinner. The chandeliers and the artificial lights that was shining in the Martha Graham Center Company hugged the warm tones displayed by the moon. Full, imposing, between two buildings, we thought she could reach the moon, and stretching her hand to that land nobody has never really conquered, fell on her cheek a cold and fragile drop. The thunderstorm broke out and the rain streamed on her hand, through her gold mane, dying on the silk of her shirt and on her naked legs.

Kurt was staring at his own planet wishing that one of these days, he will win her over, thrill her and take her away from here.

Suddenly he took her hand again and start running away from the rain with her to the building. Their bursts of laughter mingled with the lapping of water on the street.

The place and the hour didn't mean a thing for Diane. Not anymore. The only thing that mattered was the way he looked at her. No need of word, at that very moment she knew what he didn't dare to voice. She was the sun, she produced her own light. He loved her.

Sitting in a bar counter chair, a young woman in a black three holes dress was singing _Autumn in New York_ – and if you had closed your eyes, you would have thought it was Ella Fitzgerald – for the customers that barely took care.

Neither Diane nor Kurt had said a word since they left _Stern, Lockhart and Gardner_. It was their second date. No one of them had felt the need to fill the silence but while waiting for a waiter to take them to their table, he said a bit hesitantly "I can drive you back if you want" but his cold tone let hear something that he didn't mean at all so he added "I mean… It's rather late and you didn't expect me to take you out for dinner, I should have call you and ask you… And now with the rain, you're damp. I'm sorry…" But he hadn't call because he really wanted to see her and was afraid Diane would decline after a first date spent talking about their politically opposite views; he didn't want to drive her back to her home now for the same reasons; and dinner didn't thrill him but it was the only thing he had found to see her again.

"I'm glad to have dinner in town with the man out of Melville" she said. "I love this place. I hadn't have the time to eat today; I'm starving so late or not, it's the perfect time to have dinner..."

"So… it's fine?" Kurt asked.

"It is fine."

On their way back, the rain stopped and the stars finally appeared. It was almost midnight when he stopped the car in front of her door house. Kurt jumped out to open her. Who knew she loved the gentlecowboy kind?

Under the entrance porch, wine running through her blood and dizzing her brain, holding the door handle, she kissed his cheek. That simple contact made the both of them shivered and hesitating then no longer, "you want come in?" she barely whispered. It wasn't in Diane's habits to bring a man home; sleep with him; say him goodbye in the middle of the night and never think about it again. At that very moment she wasn't thinking about having sex with this man. Her proposition simply sounded right. Since their previous date, she hadn't stopped thinking about him – his laugh, his few but always relevant words, and his hands, his smile, the way he looked at her… Kurt was not not just a date, he was the man she wanted to kiss again and again, the man she would have like to talk with all day long and all night long. At first his lake of reaction made her feel so uncomfortable that her heart started to beat out of her chest.

"I'm sorry, that was stupid" she said clearing her throat and stepping back. "Thank you for dinner, it was a nice evening" she added.

But while she turned around to finally open the door, she felt his hand on her lower arms and heard the voice she already loved too much answering just next to her "I would love to" and he kissed her. His lips turned her upside down and the reality became a foggy cloud; a cloud that carried her away until he add "but maybe I should go".

And instead of going away, his lips came back on hers in a deeper kiss.

Letting his hands pulling her closer, she opened the door. They stepped in. She closed the door with a foot.

The time was not anymore.

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 **Thank you for reading!  
As I said before, all your reviews are welcomed!  
The Passenger.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N: Thank for keeping reading :).  
You may find a sequel to the _Poppy in the cab_ in a few chapters. I will tell you.  
The Passenger.**

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 ** _A poppy in the cab_**

Word of mouth goes fast and yesterday I've seen the picture.  
The heat on that August was so high you couldn't have make a move without sweating from absolutely everywhere. Yeah, not charming. I know. However, that didn't dissuade the top of the crop; the white-collar workers; the elite to run through Chicago. And that surely didn't dissuade Diane Lockhart to attempt her professional meetings. Far from it.

Birds were flying high in a perfect blue sky. It was so hot that even the shadow made by the skyscrapers was not enough to relieve the Chicagans from the one hundred and three seven Fahrenheit. No one dared to walk under that blinding sun. Though, the street was crowded; crowded by yellow cars slowly going and coming – almost not moving.

An unbearable temperature, the biggest traffic jam ever and horns. That was the landscape until a man decided to get out of his taxi and started to walk across the street, going way much faster than the cars. An attaché-case in his right hand, his jacket on the other, wearing a white shirt and polish shoes, his move was followed in a minute by fifteen other man like him from others taxis. The picture was amazing. By a low angle-shot, you could have seen a yellow street in the middle of a crème building jungle and in a blink, there were little white stains everywhere on the gold strip.  
And when the scene couldn't have been prettier, she get out of her cab too.  
In the middle of that new born little crowd, her door opened. At the end of a bare suntanned leg appeared a beige patent-leather stiletto followed by the other one. The door closed.  
Those infinite long legs were covered by an alizarin knee-high summer dress; a belted three holes more flowing under the waist dress.  
No jacket; no attaché-case. In a hurry but with grace, she started walking and joined the movement. But her walking down the street had something special. It was like a poppy ready to waltz with the wind.  
Surprised by the heat, she passed a hand through her blond medium long hair bob. This is how she let her folder drop. And this is how a man next to her picked it up for her. Eyes locked on his cell phone, he hadn't seen the woman. He only had noticed the noise the binder made when hitting the ground and he instinctively bent to take it. A bit older than Diane, he had salt and pepper hair, nice hands, and a black and white outfit. The first thing he saw was her shoes. _How a woman could walk with these. That should be torture_. His look went up to her thin ankles, her knees, her hourglass figure; for a moment he wished he was lucky enough to be the man allowed to hold her. When he handed her the binder, he tried to say something but no way. First, Diane's embarrassed but thankful smile left him speechless. Then, he expected the woman to be younger. Way younger. He was happily pleased to see that he could have date her without any moral or social issues.

"Diane Lockhart?" She picked up her phone. "Ahin… Yes, sure. I'm here in ten minutes anyway".

Lockhart? That sounded Irish.

They had kept working next to each other since they both were going on the same direction. But while walking, he had kept staring at her.

 _"_ It may sound a bit scary because we don't know each other but I'd like to offer you cup a coffee… And this before I turn to the next corner of the street. May I?" He had a British accent.

"Of course you may." She answered. "However, I'm afraid I'll have to decline. I am… Married" she added showing her ring.

He stopped walking in order to judge her and realized it would be going to far to insist.

"I hope the man knows his luck."

"Tell me if I'm wrong but I think this the corner you are supposed to turn at…"

Her rhetoric amused him. "Have a good day, Mrs. Lockhart!". And still laughing, the perfect stranger turned on Lexington Avenue.

It was a painting by Claude Monet. One of the stain was going away. The unique poppy there kept dancing its way on the golden strip, across the other stains, a bit confused by what happened and feeling guilty when thinking about her husband; feeling guilty because she enjoyed that little flirt with the Cloud.

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 **All your reviews are welcomed and appreciated :)  
** **Tank you for reading.  
The Passenger.**


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